


one wounded wing

by lonelygiants



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Child Neglect, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-05-30 23:23:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19413589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelygiants/pseuds/lonelygiants
Summary: David has no more control over nature than he does over Max, and normally he can appreciate this for what it is, just another one of life’s fun little challenges, but today it feels decidedly less fun than usual.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is so indulgent it's embarrassing lol. 
> 
> I wrote this before the premiere of the new season and I've been sitting on it since then because frankly it's not... great? But I'll write another chapter if this gets positive feedback. Otherwise I'm ready to let it fade into the ether of unfinished multichapter fanfiction. 
> 
> (FYI I don't speak Hindi and I am not Indian so if I fucked any of this up I welcome criticism!)
> 
> Title from "Adventures in Solitude" by The New Pornographers.

The clouds outside of David’s bedroom window are dark and heavy, promising a storm.

David is sitting on his bed, feeling absurdly like a misbehaving child about to get a lecture from his parents. Seated on the desk chair across from him, Max’s mother watches him like a hawk.

Max’s mother is beautiful in an austere, dignified way. She has the same smooth, dark complexion as her son, the same round face and stern green eyes. The resemblance carries over into her posture, tall and commanding, the spitting image of Max when he’s trying to assert himself with the other campers.

The only difference is that Max’s mother doesn’t have to try. Authority comes naturally to her.

“Well,” she says, “I suppose we should cut to the chase.”

“The chase,” David repeats, a bit stupidly. He’s never been good at conducting business. As a general rule, he prefers to let Gwen take care of the transactional aspects of Camp Campbell. 

Is that what this is? A transaction? David frowns, appraising Max’s mother: her well-pressed pantsuit, her neatly pinned hair. None of the battered tennis shoes, baseball caps, or decade-old khaki shorts David has come to expect from visiting parents. Parents usually dress like they’re expecting to walk around, get dirty. Max’s mom is dressed like she got lost on her way to a business conference.

Maybe that’s all this is for her: business. From what little David has managed to coax out of Max, his mom isn’t _quite_ what one would call a hands-on parent. If David were feeling a little less generous, he would say she can hardly be considered a parent at all. 

(Max’s crying face sticks in David’s mind like wet newspaper on a sidewalk. For once, he isn’t feeling particularly generous.)

“I’m given to understand that my son was injured on a hiking trip,” she says. “Is that correct?”

“Well, um, yes,” David stutters, caught off-guard by the briskness of her tone. She lifts an eyebrow at him. He clears his throat, sits up straighter. “Yes,” he says, clearer this time. “Max slipped and fell while he were hiking up a nearby mountain. My co-counselor administered first-aid while I made a call to the local hospital. The doctors there treated him for a fractured wrist. I tried to get in touch with you—”

“I received your voicemail,” she says impatiently. “That’s why I’m here. You were almost unintelligible, by the way, and the reception wasn’t very good to begin with. I would have appreciated an email.”

David was unintelligible because he was experiencing a level of panic previously unknown to man. The way Max writhed after he hit the ground, the _sounds_ he made while David was on the phone with the hospital. David had dealt with injured campers before, but he had never seen Max drop his bravado as quickly and completely as he did when his wrist gave out underneath him, and _that_ was scary.

“I’m sorry,” David says, but he’s not saying to the woman across from him. He’s saying it to Max, who looked so small and lost when the paramedics bundled him into an ambulance bound for Sleepy Peak General. Three hours later he was back to his usual self, making snide remarks about the nursing staff and laughing meanly at David’s puffy eyes, but those were a long three hours.

“Yes, well. I tried to call you back. Four times. You didn’t respond to any of my voicemails.” 

Max stole his cellphone on the ride back from the hospital and hasn’t given it back since. The implications of this are several. First, Max deliberately screened his mother’s phone calls. Second, for reasons unknown, Max hid those calls from David. Third, given Max’s general attitude toward his parents, there’s a non-zero chance that David’s phone is sitting at the bottom of Lake Lilac.

“Bad reception,” is all David says. He gets another raised eyebrow for his trouble.

“After you failed to pick up the phone, I tried to contact Mr. Campbell. I was informed that he was in FBI custody until about two weeks ago. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine!” David tells her, hoping his cheer doesn’t sound too forced.

David knows more about that than anyone should, as a matter of fact, but the last thing he wants to do right now is open up _that_ can of worms. The sad thing is that Mr. Campbell would have dealt with this situation much better than David is right now. He knew how to handle upset parents. If David had followed his instructions during Parent’s Day, Mr. Campbell wouldn’t have been in FBI custody at all.

But that’s the difference between David and Mr. Campbell: Mr. Campbell would sacrifice anything, even the wellbeing of his campers, to keep his scam running smoothly. David just can’t do that.

“In any case,” Max’s mom sighs, massaging her temples. “Given that my husband and I were unable to contact _anyone_ at this camp, we agreed that I should come here in-person to get to the bottom of this. My time is very valuable, so you can understand how frustrating this is for me.”

Normally this is the point where David would apologize profusely, but all he can muster is a weak smile. She still hasn’t asked how Max is doing. He’s starting to wonder if she ever will.

“I would be happy to answer any questions you might have,” he says, in a tone edging quickly toward desperation. _Please, for the sake of my sanity, ask whether your son is okay. I’m begging you._

She stares at him for a moment, sizing him up.

From the next room in the counselor’s cabin, he can hear Gwen getting ready for the day. The campers will be awake any minute now. David was planning to use the early morning hours to prepare the day’s activity (birdwatching!), but that was before his unexpected visitor arrived. He silently apologizes to Gwen and hopes that she’ll find a way to distract the campers while David handles— whatever this is.

He's still at a loss as to what, exactly, Max’s mother wants from him. Supposing it involves Max’s injury, there are only a few possibilities David can think of: either she wants to sue (which would be unwise, given the five-page waiver Mr. Campbell probably coerced her into signing before Max could so much as set foot on Camp Campbell soil), or she wants to take Max away so he can recover at home.

The latter possibility makes David unhappy. Realistically, he knows Max would be better off at home. David loves Camp Campbell because it’s fun and exciting, but that fun and excitement is precisely what makes it so dangerous for a ten year old kid with only one usable arm.

Besides, no matter how much parents insist they want a break from their kids, they always change their minds after enough time has passed. David has seen it a million times before; he shouldn’t be surprised that it’s finally happening with Max.

“Do we have to take him back?”

David blinks, thrown from his train of thought. “Excuse me?”

“Was I unclear?” The look on her face says plainly that she thinks David is some kind of idiot. It’s a very Max-like expression. “Your brochure doesn’t specify whether injured campers are allowed to stay for the remainder of the summer. My husband and I paid for ten weeks, so if our son leaves early, we’re expecting a refund. I don’t think I need to remind you that it was _your_ negligence that led to his injury.”

“Oh,” David says. The accusation of negligence flies right over his head; he’s too preoccupied by the rest of it to worry about his pride, which after six weeks with Max is basically non-existent, anyway. “Do you… not want to take Max back?”

The very thought is ridiculous; of course they want him back! David must have misheard. Mr. Campbell always said he needed to listen harder, pay better attention.

The face across from him grows hard and blank.

David falters. When Max gets angry, he tends to screw up his eyebrows and _shout_ , like a kettle that just reached boiling. His mother’s anger is quieter, more controlled, and all the more frightening for it.

“Is this a joke to you?” she demands, cold. “It took me hours to drive up here. Those were hours I could have spent doing infinitely more productive things, but instead I’m here, sitting with you in this dingy little cabin. I have already lost what little patience I had. So, I’ll ask you again: do we have to take him back, or can he stay?”

“He can stay,” David says, before he even has time to think. “Max is always welcome here. Always.”

Maybe he puts a little too much emphasis on the word _here_. Max’s mother bristles at the insinuation, and David can see her debating whether or not to rise to the bait.

David almost _wants_ her to fight, just so he can tell her off for the way she treats her son. It’s funny; normally he hates conflict, but a part of him has been waiting for this opportunity since Parent’s Day. The wiser part of him realizes that he will not be able to change her parenting habits just by lecturing her, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t tempted.

In the end, she lets it go. David tries not to feel too disappointed.

“That’s good,” she says. “Very good.” Then, without another word, she rises to a stand and slings her purse over her shoulder. She extends a hand for David to shake. David does so, reluctantly. He doesn’t like her, but he’s happy that the conversation has reached a conclusion.

“Do you want to see Max before you go?”

David knows even before he’s finished saying it that her answer will be—

“No, thank you.” She’s already rifling through her purse for her keys. “I wouldn’t want to take him away from all the fun activities you have planned. You can tell him I said hello. And please let him know that his _nanaji_ and _naniji_ are very excited to hear his stories from camp.”

“You bet I will!” David says, although he has no intention of actually doing that. The last thing Max needs is to know that his mother couldn’t be bothered to spare five minutes to visit him after not seeing him in nearly two months. Although, after meeting her, David wonders if that isn’t for the best.

He does make a mental note to ask Max what a _nanaji_ and _naniji_ are, always assuming Max will feel generous enough to give him an actual answer instead of deflecting with some rude comment about David’s intelligence, personal life, or general existence. It could go either way, depending on his mood.

Normally David would just Google it, but his phone may or may not be at bottom of a lake right now.

Oh, Max.

\--

Neither of them bother trying to make small talk after that, which says a lot, because David usually loves making small talk. Anyone who’s been in his company for more than five minutes could attest to that.

Anyone, that is, except for Max’s mom. After a brief exchange regarding the quickest way to get from Camp Campbell to Sleepy Peak (which is, coincidentally, the only way), David escorts her out of the cabin. The morning is cloudy and humid, the unmistakable smell of rain billowing around them.

Her black Cadillac is parked near the mess hall, looking shiny and out of place alongside the rickety cedar cabin and weed-covered driveway. 

“It was a pleasure,” she tells him, and he manages a stiff nod and a rictus-like smile.

“The pleasure was mine,” he says through gritted teeth. She nods. Interaction complete.

Looking back, he won’t know why it never occurred to him to check the time. If he had, he would have realized that it was a quarter until eight o’clock.

Breakfast at Camp Campbell starts at seven-thirty, and it generally takes the campers about fifteen minutes to decide whether the Quartermaster’s food is edible or not. This means that just as Max’s mom begins walking to her car, the campers start leaving the mess hall.

It’s just David’s luck that the first campers to leave are Nikki, Neil, and Max.

“For the last time, Nikki, botanists define fruits as any crop that bears seeds. Tomatoes bear seeds, so tomatoes are fruits. You can call them vegetables all you want, but that doesn’t refute decades of scientific research. All it does is make _you_ look uneducated. End of discussion!”

“Okay, sure, but hear me out: who are we to impose arbitrary labels on mother nature? Are you some kind of cop, Neil? A fruit cop? I say tomatoes can be whatever the heck they want to be! Fruits, vegetables, funny cartoon characters who sing about Jesus. Who cares! Right, Max?”

“Both of you are stupid and this conversation is a colossal waste of time. I refuse to engage.”

“Ooh, but aren’t you engaging by telling us that you refuse to engage? Checkmate!”

“She’s got you there, Max. Besides, you know I’m right.”

“All I know is that if I spend one more minute listening to this bullshit, I’m going to throw myself off the nearest roof. Maybe then you can argue about whether it was the fall or the landing that killed me.”

“Actually, since all of the buildings at camp are single-story, I doubt falling from them would actually kill you. It’s more likely that you would break a bone. Or several.”

“Wow, Max, you can get a new cast to match the one you already have! Will you let me sign the new one? Pretty please? I’ve been practicing my signature all summer, it’s really starting to look cool—”

“How many times do I have to tell you freaks to keep your grubby hands _away from my cast_? Jesus—”

Max stops midsentence. Green eyes meet green eyes, and the warm summer morning seems to freeze.

Max’s mom halts in her tracks. David’s first instinct is to step between them, which is ridiculous. Max isn’t in any danger, and even if he was, the past couple months have demonstrated that he’s more than capable of taking care of himself. Moreso than David, at the very least.

Still, there’s something about that expression on Max’s face that sets David on edge. He isn’t shocked so much as grim, like he’s been expecting this for some time. That in itself is no reason for concern; David figured Max knew that his mother was planning a visit, so it makes sense that he doesn’t look surprised.

But it’s not just the lack of surprise. Max looks _tense_ , a wire ready to snap, and David has no idea why.

“Whoa, Max, that lady looks a lot like you! Oh my gosh, is that your _mom_? Can you introduce us?”

“Nikki, _read the room_!” Neil hisses, his eyes pinballing between Max, his mom, and David.

“It’s so good to see you,” Max’s mom tells her son, ignoring Nikki and Neil altogether. Her smile is razor thin, too calculated to be genuine. “Did you get the present your _baba_ and I sent you? We thought you’d like it.”

Max says nothing. His brow becomes progressively more furrowed as he stares at his mom, the fake smile still plastered on her face. David bites his lip, wanting to intervene but unsure how to go about it.

The other camper are gathering now, lured by the promise of something gossip-worthy in the middle of what has been an otherwise uneventful week. Preston cries out about the dramatic tension of it all; Space Kid expresses his genuine surprise that Max was lying about being grown in a lab.

David tries to shoo them off, to no avail.

Fortunately for him, Gwen appears at the back of the crowd with a pan and a ladle, which she proceeds to bang together as loudly as she can. Gwen being Gwen, the end result is pretty dang loud.

“All right, ya little shits,” (a raised eyebrow from Max’s mother), “get yourselves down to the activities field before I tell Quartermaster you’re all hungry for seconds. Don’t test me, I swear I’ll do it!”

Whatever their lovely Quartermaster concocted for breakfast this morning, it must’ve been exceptionally bad. The campers quickly disperse, with the exception of Max, Neil, and Nikki. The latter two linger by Max’s side, clearly hesitant to leave him alone. David is glad to see their loyalty can withstand even the threat of Quartermaster’s cooking, but they probably shouldn’t be here for this.

“Neil, Nikki, could you please help Gwen set up for the next activity?”

“If by ‘the next activity’ you mean ‘listening to Space Kid talk about Alpha Centauri for three hours while Gwen reads softcore porn,’” Neil says, the latter half of his sentence fortunately drowned out by Nikki’s exclamation of: “But David, that’s so _lame_! Max was gonna introduce me to his mom!”

“Maybe some other time,” David tells her, kind but firm.

She looks prepared to argue, as does Neil, but their objections are interrupted. “Both of you get the hell out of here,” Max says. “Seriously, you’re starting to annoy the crap out of me.”

“Max, language!”

“Hell and crap aren’t even fucking swears, David! What are you, eight?”

“Max.” On hearing his mother’s voice, Max stops. Her words cuts through the air like morning frost. “I will not have you behaving this way in front of strangers. Your father and I raised you better than—”

“They aren’t strangers, they’re my _friends_ ,” Max interjects, the familiar, obligatory anger he showed David quickly turning genuine. “And you didn’t _raise_ me, you just passed me off on a nanny until I was old enough to stay home alone. And then you sent me _here_ ,” he says, flinging his arms out wide, “so you wouldn’t have to look at me for three months! So I’m sorry my behavior offends you, but tough luck.”

“Watch your tone,” Max’s mother says evenly, though it still somehow sounds like a threat.

At his side, David can hear Nikki whisper, “Uh, Neil? I don’t think Max likes his mom very much.”

“Gee, you think?!” Neil whispers back, high and reedy.

It’s at this moment that David spots Quartermaster polishing his hook with a dirty rag by the mess hall entrance. In all his life, David never thought he’d be so thankful to see him.

“Quartermaster! Would you mind escorting Nikki and Neil to the activities field? I wouldn’t want Gwen to worry about them when she realizes they aren’t there. You know how she is!”

“Aye,” says the Quartermaster, at the same time Neil says, “I’m sorry, have you _met_ Gwen?”

Before Neil can say anything else, Quartermaster hoists him and Nikki into his arms. Nikki immediately tries to bite his hand, but she ends up biting his hook instead. If it were anyone other camper, David would be worried about all the germs on that hook— but he figures Nikki is more or less immune to germs by this point. Besides, there are more pressing matters to contend with at the moment.

The three of them depart, though not before Nikki shouts “ _et tu, David_?” at a volume that belies how small she is. Even Preston would be impressed by her delivery. David feels proud, and also a little guilty.

“Is this how you run your camp?” Max’s mom demands, rounding on David. “With a hook-handed man and a woman who swears at children? Not to mention the fact that the camp founder is a _criminal_. No wonder my son is behaving even worse than before, with people like you looking after him. I suppose you’re some sort of degenerate as well, is that right? I shouldn’t be surprised—”

“Don’t talk to him like that.”

David whips his head around to look at Max, who stares defiantly up at his mother.

She purses her lips at him, eyes flashing. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I told you not to talk to him like that. David annoys the hell out of me, don’t get me wrong, but he’s a better adult than you ever could be. Even with his stupid fucking guitar.”

This is among the top five most positive things Max has ever said about him, if you ignore all the unflattering bits. David would hug him under any other circumstances. As it stands, he can feel his popularity with Max’s mom dropping precipitously each passing second, and he’s not totally sure how to navigate this situation without making it worse for everyone involved.

“I sure do appreciate the sentiment, Max, but I think you might be—”

“Shut up, David,” Max says, still glaring at his mother. She stares coldly back.

“I thought you’d be finished sulking after two months,” she says. “Clearly I was wrong. Your father and I paid a lot for you to be here, and every moment I spend indulging your appalling behavior is more money down the drain."

“I didn’t _ask_ you to send me here, you did it so you could pretend I don’t exist for ten weeks. Sorry I'm not jumping at the chance to show you how grateful I am."

“You’re being childish.”

“He _is_ a child,” David points out weakly, but both of them ignore him. 

“If this visit is such a waste of time, why are you even here?” Max demands. “ _I_ don’t want you here. I finally resigned myself to spending the rest of my summer in this shithole, and now you’re here to, what, make me go someplace else? If you think you can drag me to some other stupid camp, you’re wrong.”

“Max,” David says gently, soothingly, “nobody is asking you to—"

But before he can finish his sentence, Max’s mom interjects.

“I am your mother,” she says, drawing herself up to her full height. “And you will do as I say, when I say it, or there _will_ be consequences. Perhaps you’ve forgotten your place after spending so much time here, but I will be more than happy to remind you if you continue to behave like this. Do I make myself clear?”

A moment ticks by. Then another. Distantly, David hears the soft sound of a lark calling to its flock.

They were going to go birdwatching. He’d been trying for days to find an activity that would accommodate Max’s injury without seeming patronizing. Birdwatching didn’t require very much manual dexterity, but it was outdoorsy enough that David could pass it off as something he planned ahead of time. It was perfect. He was looking forward to showing the campers that nest of bluebirds he found by the lake.

But there’s a storm coming in, and David has a sinking feeling that birdwatching will have to wait. 

“The only thing that’s clear,” Max says, “is that I should have done this a long _fucking_ time ago.”

And without another word, he turns around and takes off into the woods. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David has no more control over nature than he does over Max, and normally he can appreciate this for what it is, just another one of life’s fun little challenges, but today it feels decidedly less fun than usual.

In the immediate aftermath of Max’s escape into the woods, David realizes several things.

The first is that it’s begun to rain. It starts as nothing more than a light drizzle, but within minutes it has escalated into a steady downpour. Escalation appears to be a running theme, today. David has no more control over nature than he does over Max, and normally he can appreciate this for what it is, just another one of life’s fun little challenges, but today it feels decidedly less fun than usual.

The second realization is that Max’s mom has already started walking to her car, keys in hand. David balks at this, even though it makes perfect sense with respect to everything he’s learned about her today. He shouldn’t be surprised.

Still, he can’t help but sprint ahead of her, positioning himself between her and the car door. She squints at him through the rain, clearly unamused. He stands his ground.

“Where are you going?” he asks, only a little tremulously. “Don’t you want to look for Max?”

“That's what I pay you for,” she replies, dismissive. “You're in charge of making sure he stays on camp property, yet you've chosen to bother me with asinine questions instead of searching for him. Tell me, why is that?”

“Because you’re his mother!” David cries, well and truly at the end of his rope. The creases around her mouth deepen in response to his outburst, the early stages of a sneer. He finds that he doesn’t care. “Don’t you— aren’t you worried? I've never seen him that upset before. Obviously he's doing this because he's scared, and he needs you to reassure him, but you’re just going to abandon him because— because looking after him is someone else’s job? Is that it?”

A moment passes, and all David can hear is the sound of his heart hammering in his ears. Max’s mother stares at him, an appraising glint in her eye. She holds her keys tightly in one fist, as one would a weapon. To say that David’s words did not affect her would be a vast understatement.

“My shoes,” she says, each word clipped and precise, “are not suitable for chasing after rambunctious little boys in the wilderness, a fact which I am sure even you can appreciate.”

She gestures down to her feet, looking pinched and uncomfortable in a set of four-inch heels. David stares at them dumbly.

“So as you can see, even if I wanted to go traipsing through the woods in search of my son, I would not be of much help. In any case, I don’t want to encourage this poor behavior by indulging him. If he wants to act out for attention, he can deal with the consequences. I leave him in your very… _capable_ hands. Now, please get out of my way so that I can go on with my day. Thank you.”

David doesn’t move, gone stiff from shock, but she finds her way past him without much trouble.

The last he sees of her is the carefully-ironed back of her pantsuit disappearing into the sleek leather interior of her sedan, and then the door shuts behind her, percussive in the silence. The engine roars to life, snapping David out of his stupor, and within a minute, she’s gone. Just like her son. 

“Max,” David hears himself say, as if from a distance. “I have to find Max.”

The third realization is that Max could have gone absolutely anywhere, and David has no way to locate him. And his arm is broken, and it’s raining, and the forest goes on for miles in any direction.

This is the realization that makes David’s pulse spike. He remembers all too clearly the time he got lost in those woods. David survived that nightmare not just because of the kindness of a friend, but also because he was well-trained. And even then, even after all those classes on identifying edible plants and building shelter with rudimentary materials, David very nearly didn’t make it.

The thought of Max going through that is positively stomach churning. It’s what motivates David to start running after him, heedless of the tripping tree roots underfoot and the lashing rain overhead, shouting his name into the wind. He runs in the general direction where Max disappeared.

If he had any possession over his mental faculties at that moment, he would have gone to find a pair of rainboots and a sturdy umbrella. He would have told Gwen where he was going, just in case something happened to him along the way. He would have at least left a note.

Unfortunately for David, none of this occurs to him until he’s already ankle-deep in mud, winding his way through the clusters of oak and pine trees that surround Camp Campbell like a maze. Every so often he consults the map he keeps in his back pocket, just so he can keep track of where he’s going. The rain makes the ink run in places, but David has the map mostly memorized, so he’s not worried.

Well, he’s definitely _worried_ , but not about the map. The map is the least of his problems.

The rain is coming down harder now, plastering David’s hair to his forehead. He unties the bandana from around his neck and uses it to wipe the water from his eyes, still craning his neck for a glimpse of blue-and-yellow in the interstices of the bowing trees. He doesn’t find it. He keeps looking.

Looking on the bright side, Max can’t have gotten very far. He’s ten, he’s shorter than most kids his age, and he’s not particularly athletic. The nearest major roadway is thirty minutes away by foot, and that assumes the walking speed of a full-grown adult with adequate hiking shoes on dry, level ground.

In light of these facts, David has decided to be cautiously optimistic.

This is upgraded to fully-fledged, unqualified optimism when he discovers an unmistakable trail of footprints in the mud, which leads him to a copse of sycamore trees further downhill. The foliage there is thick enough to provide adequate cover from the rain, and huddled against one of the trunks, knees drawn up to his chest, is Max.

At the sight of him, David lets out a tremendous sigh of relief.

Max doesn’t notice David approaching, seemingly lost in thought. His shoes are covered in mud and his clothes are soaking wet, but as far as David can tell, he isn’t injured. That’s good. They’ll have to borrow Gwen’s hairdryer to dry out that cast, but compared to what David was imagining, this is nothing.

He approaches Max with exaggerated caution, not wanting to startle him. It’s a habit he’s developed after years of observing animals in the wild, rabbits and starlings and spindly-legged deer, the kinds of creatures that scamper away if they hear even the smallest noise. 

The closer he gets, however, the more David realizes that he’s made a huge mistake. If Max knew he were here, he would never let himself look so vulnerable. His cheeks are wet from more than the rain, and every so often he makes a quiet, miserable snuffling sound that breaks David’s heart.

It also scares him a little. There’s no telling how Max will punish him if he realizes that David saw him crying. It could be quick and painless, a mean comment muttered under his breath at just the right volume for David to hear, or it could be surprise fire ants in his bed at 3 AM tomorrow morning. Max is impossible to predict when he’s upset, and right now, he’s more upset than David has ever seen him.

So, David has two choices. He can either a) beat a hasty retreat, then circle back after Max is finished crying, or b) make his presence known now, and accept the 3 AM fire ants as a necessary sacrifice.

In the end, it isn’t a choice at all. Max’s breath hitches on a sob, and David can’t help but take a step forward, overcome by the instinctual desire to comfort.

Then he takes another step forward, and another, until he’s toeing the edge of the treeline.

It’s at this point that Max finally registers his presence. He reacts as well as David expected.

“David, what the _fuck_!?”

He scrambles to his feet, scrubbing furiously at his face as if he could erase his own sadness if he tried hard enough. David doesn’t comment, choosing instead to sit down under the shelter of the branches. The coverage here is excellent; David couldn’t have picked a better shelter himself.

He tactfully does not say this out loud, knowing that Max would only think he was being patronized.

It takes a minute for Max to calm down. He stomps purposefully over to the opposite end of their makeshift shelter and plants his butt on the ground. He’s still red in the face, but he isn’t sputtering profanity or hurling death threats, and that’s about as well-behaved as Max gets.

“I didn’t ask you to chase after me,” he all but spits. “You could have stayed at camp.”

“No, I couldn’t have,” David answers honestly. “I was worried about you.”

Max doesn’t dignify this response, he just sneers and looks down at his shoes. Embarrassed, David suspects. It’s amazing how easy Max is to read after just a few months; he used to seem so complicated.

A silence falls over them, perfectly still but for the soft drumming of the rain. David takes the opportunity to wring the water from his bandana, which he then uses to wipe his face clean. He offers the bandana to Max, but his offer is instantly rejected. The bandana goes back in his pocket.

David wants to invite him back to camp, but the silence is a fragile thing, and he doesn’t want to be the one to break it. It seems like it would be wrong of him to try. Besides, it isn’t necessary just yet. Gwen can handle the other campers for a little while longer, if not by choice then by sheer willpower, and David would spend all day out here if it meant giving Max the time he needs to collect himself.

So, he doesn’t say anything. And Max doesn’t say anything.

This proceeds for about ten minutes, during which time the heavy rain slowly eases into a light shower.

“They don’t beat me or starve me or whatever you’re thinking,” Max declares at last. “It’s not like that.”

“I didn’t think it was,” David says gently. He might not be as smart as Gwen or Mr. Campbell, but he’s been working with kids for a while now. He can recognize the signs of child abuse from a mile away, and in that respect, he never worried about Max for a second.

In other respects, well. David was never under any illusion that Max had an excellent relationship with his parents. There was a time when he thought it was _functional_ , if only in the most basic sense of the word, but never more than that. Now he knows that even that assumption was far too generous.

“Sure, okay,” Max scoffs. “I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. My folks aren’t monsters. Shit, some kids would _kill_ to have parents like mine. Parents who can _provide_ for them, and all that crap.”

Max rolls his eyes. He would rather die than depend on other people; David has known that since the day he stepped off the bus. That kind of independent streak would make him perfect for the Wood Scouts, especially with his clever, ruthless little mind. He’d be running that place in less than a day.

David spares a moment to feel relieved that Max ended up on his side of Lake Lilac. Relieved, and more than a little proud. Max is _theirs_. The Wood Scouts will just have to make do without him.

Fortunately for David, Max is too absorbed in his thoughts to notice the silly little grin on his counselor’s face. He traces aimless patterns in the dirt with the toe of his muddy sneaker.

“My parents are stupid rich, did I tell you that?” Max glances up; David schools his expression into something a little more serious. “I’m not bragging, it’s just the truth. That’s the reason they became surgeons in the first place. There’s a ton of pressure on them from my grandparents to be successful and have this perfect life, because that’s the whole reason they moved to this shithole country. They gave up everything they had to come here, so they’ve gotta have something to show for it.

“Only problem is, that mindset turned them into _crazy_ workaholics. They’re hardly ever around. My mom works fifty, sometimes sixty hours a week. My dad hasn’t stayed home for an entire weekend since I was _five_. I think I learned how to say my nanny’s name before I learned either of theirs.”

David is taken aback, not by anything Max has said (all of which tracks with what David already pieced together about him), but because Max is sharing this information of his own free will. He’s being unusually talkative today, David thinks. They’re long past the point in the conversation where Max would normally tell him to buzz off, and he hasn’t called David a rude name even once!

“Hey, fucker, are you listening to me?” Okay, scratch that last part. It wouldn’t be Max without a rude name or two. “I can leave if this isn’t entertaining enough for you. I got better shit to do anyway.”

He says this like David doesn’t know his entire itinerary. David _wrote_ his entire itinerary.

“I’m listening, Max,” he says patiently. Max eyes him distrustfully for a moment, then returns his attention to his muddy sneakers. They really are filthy; David hopes that Quartermaster has some kind of extra-strength detergent on hand, because otherwise they might be beyond repair.

“Anyway, it’s not like my life is totally miserable. Like I said, they keep me fed and sheltered and all that shit. Chrissake, I had a _nanny_. What kind of privileged little asshole has a nanny, right?” Max snorts. “It’s just that sometimes, it feels like… like I’m just one more trophy to add to their collection, you know? Something they can keep on their shelf until they need to show me off to the relatives. And when they get tired of looking at me, they can just put me right back on the shelf. Out of sight, out of mind.”

“I’m sorry, but I find that hard to imagine,” David says, nudging Max playfully with his shoulder. “Whenever you’re out of sight, all I can think about is what kind of trouble you might be getting into.”

“My parents don’t care about that, _trust_ me,” Max says, folding in on himself like a wet butterfly. David’s heart aches. “I used to do all kinds of crazy stuff to get their attention, but none of it mattered. Every time I ruined one of mom’s dresses or flushed dad’s car keys down the toilet, they would just hand me over to another child psychologist. I wanted to be their son, but I wasn’t even important enough to be their _problem_. I was always a chore for other people to handle, like their dirty laundry.”

David wants to hug him more than just about anything, but in the interest of keeping all four of his limbs attached to his body, he refrains from satisfying the urge.

“So at some point, I decided: fuck it!” Max throws his hands up, suddenly alive with energy. A grin splits his face, but there’s no joy in it. It lasts for all of ten seconds before the energy leaves him and he slumps against the tree behind him. “Fuck it,” he repeats, softly this time. “If my parents couldn’t be bothered to give me more than the bare minimum of attention, why should I try to get _their_ attention?”

“So much for that,” he murmurs, ducking his head into his hoodie. David tries to catch his eye, but he tucks his chin down and fiddles stubbornly with the trailing laces of his shoes. “Fucking stupid. What the hell was I expecting, running off like that? Blind optimism is your thing, not mine. I know what she’s like. I could be bleeding out on the floor in front of her and she’d step away to keep the blood off her shoes.”

The old David would have tried to smooth over this awful situation, just as one would smooth over a particularly ugly tablecloth. Iron out the wrinkles, try and make it look presentable. _See, it’s not so bad after all!_ But they’ve been over this before: you can’t solve every problem by pretending it doesn’t exist. Sometimes the tablecloth is ugly, period, and there’s nothing you can do about it but cut your losses.

“I don’t like her shoes anyway,” David says, surprising himself. Not just himself. Max looks up at him like he just spoke Greek. “They’re not good for hiking,” David adds, a touch defensive. “Too, uh. Pointy. The camp handbook specifically states that all visitors should wear comfortable, closed-toe shoes.”

Max stares at him for another moment, slack-jawed. Just as David starts to worry that he put his foot in his mouth, something unexpectedly wonderful happens: Max erupts into startled laughter. It’s a deeply undignified and somewhat goofy sound that David loves the instant he hears it. He almost wishes Gwen were here so he could turn to her and say, triumphantly: “Look, I told you he could do it!”

“Of all the things not to like about my mom,” Max says, still snorting with laughter, “you pick her stupid shoes.” He tips his head back and cracks up again, like he just heard the funniest joke in the world. “God, but I wish you would say that to her face. I want to see her expression.”

“There are a lot of things I want to say to her face,” David admits. “I should’ve said them earlier, but…”

“But it wouldn’t make a difference,” Max interrupts. The mirth in his voice is gone, suddenly.

“It wouldn’t make a difference,” David agrees, in the spirit of mutual honesty. “But I still should’ve said it. You deserve to have someone speak up for you.”

“I speak up for myself,” Max says, flicking a piece of gravel away with his finger. “Always have. You should know that by now. I hardly ever shut up about how much I hate this place, right? For all the good it does me,” he adds with a half-hearted sneer. “Sometimes I wonder if you ever even listen.”

“I always listen,” David says calmly. “I just don’t believe you.”

Max stares at him in obvious disbelief. “I’ve tried to run away like, twelve different times.”

“If you really wanted to leave, you’d be gone by now.” This thought hadn’t occurred to David until just now, but now that he’s said it out loud, it makes perfect sense. He’s struck with the sudden, gratifying realization that Max has had about a million chances to leave since he came here, and he deliberately ignored almost all of them. Feeling a pang of fondness, he says, “You’re the smartest kid I’ve ever met.”

“Shut up,” Max says. It’s hard to tell in the faint light, but he might be blushing. “Shut up, I don’t want to hear it. And don’t let Neil hear you say it either, or he’ll get a complex about it. It’ll be a whole thing. I don’t feel like spending the next three weeks listening to him obsessively comparing our IQs at four in the goddamn morning. If I’m even around for another three weeks,” he adds, frowning.

It takes a moment for David to catch his meaning.

“Your mother didn’t come here to take you away from us.”

“Bullshit,” Max snaps. “I heard the messages she left on your phone, David. She asks all those questions about whether she should take me home, and then she just happens to drop by for a visit? Don’t make me laugh. I know my mom, and she wouldn’t come here if she didn’t absolutely have to.”

“Look at me.” In response, Max digs his face into the collar of his hoodie. “Please, Max.”

A minute passes by, silent but for the patter of rain on the heavy branches above their heads. Max’s face is completely hidden, so David has no way of knowing what expression he’s making. He suspects it might be a frightened one, but it’s hard to picture fear on Max’s face. He always acts so strong.

Finally, Max tilts his head up just enough so that David can see his eyes. They’re hard and uncompromising, the same as always, but this time David can detect a glint of fear. 

It shouldn’t unnerve him as much as it does. Max may be brilliant and brave and stubborn, but he’s still a child. And just like any child, sometimes he needs an adult to tell him that everything will be all right.

“Your mom is not taking you away today,” David tells him, firm. “Trust me on that, okay?”

“Why should I?” Max demands. “Why do you even _care_? I get that I’m some kind of pet project for you, but I make your life hell every chance I get. I got Quartermaster to beat the living shit out of you less than a month ago. You should be jumping at the chance to get rid of me.”

It should come as no surprise that Max is so quick to assume he’s unwanted, given what his parents are like. Still, David can’t help but feel a twinge of frustration. Not necessarily at Max, but at his own inability to convey his feelings in an effective way. There must be some combination of words that will put Max at ease, make him believe that David isn’t on tenterhooks waiting for him to leave.

Gwen would know what to say if she were here; she’s always been better at being blunt, and Max respects bluntness. He understands it. David focuses all his energy on channeling Gwen.

“Max,” he starts, halting and unsure. No, no, wait. Gwen is never unsure. He clears his throat and starts again. “Max, obviously you haven’t made this summer easy for me. To be totally honest, you’ve caused me more stress than all the other campers combined. But,” he adds quickly, because he hates seeing that wounded look on Max’s face, “I have never once thought that this camp would be better without you. I love having you here, Max. Yes, you’re a handful, but you’re also smart and determined and _fun_. Everything here is so much better with you around. I really, truly mean that.”

He manages to leave it at that, because Gwen doesn’t ramble. (Unless she’s drunk, or off her meds, or talking about the latest episode of her favorite supernatural teen drama series. Sometimes the stars will align and all three of those things will happen at once, which is always a fun and not remotely terrifying experience, and David is going to stop thinking about that before he psyches himself out.)

Max is openly staring at him now, which makes the silence just a _little_ uncomfortable, but David endures it. Just as it’s starting to become too much to bear, Max groans and presses his face into his knees.

“Max…?” David says, suddenly worried that he said something bad.

“You’re so sappy it’s embarrassing,” Max replies, his voice muffled through the layers of fabric. David is relieved to hear him fighting back a smile. “I mean _Jesus_ , David. Save it for your diary.”

David fully intends to write about this in his diary, where he will doodle stars and smiley faces and gush about how he made Max smile when he was feeling down. He really did that! Him, David! All by himself! He bites down on his lower lip to suppress a big, goofy grin, but judging by the look on Max’s face, he doesn’t succeed. That’s fine; one major victory per day is good enough for David.

“Okay, this is starting to get weird,” Max announces. He stands up, brushing the dirt off his jeans. David starts to do the same thing, wincing as his knees ache from the clammy air, but he stops when he sees a hand extended in front of his face. He glances up at Max. Max stares down at him, pokerfaced. 

“You don’t have to act tough, David, I know you have the joints of a sixty year old woman. Which is totally pathetic, by the way— I can’t believe you lost all your cartilage in your twenties. Weak.”

He talks big, but his hand is still hanging uncertainly in the air, like he’s ready to pull it back at any minute. Without another thought, David consents to being pulled up.

It isn’t enough to actually reduce the strain on his knees, especially considering how off-balance Max is with one arm in a cast, but David makes a show of springing to his feet with exaggerated ease. Predictably, his knees cry out in protest. His back also twinges a little, unhappy with the change in position. The pain is worth it to see Max puff up a little, like he accomplished something important.

The rain has slowed to a lazy drizzle, which is good, because neither of them have an umbrella. The foliage overhead provides just enough natural cover to keep them dry as they pick their way across the rugged terrain, though David is careful to stay close to Max in case he slips on the wet rocks.

He even offers his hand to hold, which Max pointedly rejects, but David notices how he doesn’t stray very far from him the entire walk home. He’s making an effort to trust, even if it doesn’t seem like it.

They arrive back at camp a little after nine o’clock. Max’s mother is still gone, leaving behind nothing but tire tracks in the dirt. Max doesn’t talk about it, and David doesn’t ask. After all, trust is a two way street: if Max trusts David enough to be honest about his pain, even if only begrudgingly, David has to trust that Max will come to him if he needs it. He’ll open up in due course, David is sure of it.

“We need to dry off,” Max says officiously as the camp comes into view. “Especially _you_ ,” he adds, sneering as he looks David up and down. “Did it seriously not occur to you to bring an umbrella? God, it’s like you _want_ to catch a cold. Don’t come crying to me when you’re too sick to go hiking next week, or whatever bullshit activity you have planned for us, ‘cause I’ll just laugh at you.”

“The counselor’s cabin has some towels we can use,” David replies, already heading in that direction. “And we’ll need to go there, anyway, so we can get Gwen’s hairdryer. Otherwise your cast could get itchy. I’m sure she won’t mind. Plus, I’ll need to give your mom a call so I can let her know I found you...”

Max stares at him like this is the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. David just sighs.

“I’m not doing it because I want to, Max. If I don’t, she might come back.”

He still looks unconvinced, but he doesn’t try to argue. David gets it. It’s not like he’s particularly eager to call her; if he goes the rest of his life without hearing her voice again, he’ll be perfectly content. He can only imagine what it must be like to live with her.

Max is silent for the entire walk to the cabin. David feels a preemptive stab of concern, but when he looks down, Max’s face is more preoccupied than upset. Like he's trying to think a difficult problem all the way through to the end. It makes sense that he would have a lot to think about, so even though David’s natural impulse is to talk through his problems (rigorously, lengthily, and occasionally in song) he doesn’t say anything. 

When they arrive, David is stopped short of opening the door by a small hand fisted in his shirttail. He glances down to see Max, blushing and stubbornly avoiding his eyes. This is bizarre in itself, because Max is usually all about full eye contact. ("It's how he establishes dominance," Gwen likes to say, and David thinks she’s only half-joking.)

"Max, is there something—?"

"I'm sorry," Max blurts, cutting him off. David blinks, caught off-guard. For a moment, he almost thinks that he misheard. Max doesn't apologize to people on general principle, and he _especially_ doesn't apologize to David. Just the thought of it is absurd, and yet…

"I'm sorry I made you walk all that way to find me," Max continues, still looking at anything except David. Okay, wow. This is really happening. "I'm sorry I ruined your dumb birdwatching plans. I'm sorry for being such a jerk to you all the time, even though you don't deserve it. Most of the time, I mean. Sometimes you make it impossible for me _not_ to act like a jerk, especially when you do that stupid thing where you— augh, _shit_ , never mind. Damn it. I'm sorry I can't even apologize right, Jesus Christ."

"Anyway, I'm sorry for all of that," he finishes lamely, finally releasing his grip on David's shirt. "And I'm also sorry for stealing your phone. But you should really come up with a more complicated password than '1234,' because honestly, that's just _asking_ for it. It's 2016, dude. You shouldn’t have the same password as my grandmother.”

He stuffs his good hand in his pocket and fishes out David's phone, which he holds out between them like an olive branch. David accepts it gingerly, feeling like his entire universe just got turned inside-out. He notes without much surprise that Max has updated his lockscreen background to a low-res picture of a baboon’s rear end. Somehow, this fails to put a damper on the upswell of emotion rising in his chest. He feels himself tearing up.

“Oh, god damn it,” Max groans. “David, _stop crying_. This is exactly why I didn't want to apologize, 'cause I knew you'd act like this!”

"I'm fine," David insists, voice gone thick with tears. "I just have, uh, something in my eye?"

And then he breaks down into sobs.

"You're _unbelievable_ ," Max snaps over the sound of David bawling his eyes out. David is too busy bawling his eyes out to respond. Max rolls his eyes. "Ugh, whatever. Fucking typical. Now that you have your phone back, you can go ahead and let that hag know I didn't die. I'm sure she'll be _thrilled_ to hear that I'm still part of the team. Meantime, I'm gonna go towel off and see if Gwen owns anything I can sell on EBay. Okay, cool, bye."

And with that, he walks into the cabin and slams the door behind him.

The clouds don’t part above them, and there are no rainbows or white, fluffy clouds to show that the storm has finally ended. Still, when David collects himself enough to think about anything other than Max's apology (because Max _apologized_ , to _him_ , for _real_!) he swears he hears the faraway sound of music.

Somewhere, he realizes, the birds are singing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whatever you think of this chapter, i PROMISE it is not as hard to read as it was to write. rip my short-attention-span-having ASS. 
> 
> anyway i hope y'all enjoy this, please leave comments and kudos if you do! :)


End file.
